


can't rain forever

by 26stars



Series: AU August 2020 [13]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU Meeting, Artist AU, Artist!Elena, F/F, Firefighter AU, Firefighter!Bobbi, Post-Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: Elena goes back to what's left of her studio the day after the fire to see what's still there. There isn't much. But something new is.
Relationships: Bobbi Morse/Yo Yo Rodriguez
Series: AU August 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860802
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21
Collections: AOS AU August 2020, Women of the MCU





	can't rain forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bubblebirdie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblebirdie/gifts), [agentmmayy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmmayy/gifts).



> For Ness because your 'hard to draw, easy to love' fic made me love artist!Elena so freaking much and for BubbleBirdie for paddling this canoe :)

There is still yellow tape around the property, but Elena ducks under it without even breaking her stride—she’s never really paid much attention to limits. After the mayhem of the day before, the stillness of the scene is jarring. No firetruck horns, no flashing lights, no roaring flames or gushing hoses…

Her studio sits at the end of a row of similar units on a more historic (read: run-down) part of the downtown area. She had of course had the place inspected before buying it, but apparently bad wiring could skate under even the most seasoned inspector’s nose. It may not have been her fault—not like she could of known what was happening on the other side of drywall and plaster, but considering the fire burned so bright because of all the oil paints it had to consume…well. Something about this certainly felt personal.

Elena stands inside the tape, just beyond the edge of what used to be the covered porch of her property, and surveys the scene, her arms folded. Insurance will cover most of the financial loss, but, like with most forms of art, it is difficult to put a price tag on all that was actually lost. Years of paintings requiring months of work each, created with a level of personal investment that couldn’t be quantified…

“Hey.”

Elena turns over one shoulder and sees a tall woman with a long blonde ponytail standing on the other side of the tape, looking concerned.

“I think you know you’re not supposed to be in there.”

On her best days, Elena doesn’t take kindly to being lectured by strangers. Today, no doubt, is the worst possible day someone could dare to start something with her.

“It’s my property,” Elena says, unfolding her arms and propping one hand on her hip. “Do you have anything useful to tell me?”

To her surprise, the woman ducks under the tape, approaching her, and Elena squares up for a confrontation. Instead of arguing though, the woman offers her a black fireman’s hardhat.

“I mean, you shouldn’t be in there without a hardhat and supervision. It’s not safe.”

The blonde puts on her own hardhat, and Elena follows suit, still feeling prickly.

“Are you the insurance rep?” she asks, eyeing the woman for identification. She’s tall and fit but not carrying a clipboard or anything else Elena might have expected.

The blonde shakes her head. “I’m with ladder 22—we were on this scene last night.”

“You were one of the people responsible for this?” Elena says, probably much to sourly, with a jerk of her chin towards her studio.

“I know, I know. Water damage is sometimes just as bad as the fire,” the blonde nods, turning towards the burned-out shell. “Are you the artist? Or just the saleswoman?”

“This is all my stuff,” Elena says, referring to the art, but also to the property. Her stuff, her loss.

“I’m really sorry,” the blonde says then. “I could tell it was art, but I didn’t know it was all yours. I can’t imagine.”

“Don’t you do this for a living?” Elena snaps, turning back towards the building and daring to venture beneath the burned-out porch roof and through the space where a door used to be. The floor is still wet in places, and everything around her is varying shades of black and gray, either rent to ash or at least blackened with soaked-in soot.

“It’s not supposed to matter less,” the blonde says quietly, following her into what’s left of the building but not sticking too closely behind her.

Elena sighs, trying to reign in her frustration, and starts slowly moving through the main room, looking for anything spared by the fire. All the canvases hung on the walls are in various states of char, the oils cracked and blackened. Some had burned enough that their wooden stretchers have disintegrated, the remaining strips of canvas curled like wet dead leaves on the floor. The walls, once a soft gold, are all streaked with soot soaked in with water. Elena identifies the table that she’d once used as an information desk and payment counter—all it is now is two legs of firewood. The back area that had been her studio is by far the worst off—too much paint for a greedy fire to give it up easily.

“How long had you been here?” the woman behind her asks, and Elena sighs, kicking aside a large piece of wood that might have once been part of her easel.

“Just a little over a year.”

“I’m really sorry. I can’t imagine,” the blonde repeats.

Elena gazes around at the ruined space that had once been her favorite place in the world, looking for something, anything, salvageable that she can carry away with her today. Along one wall, all her new canvases are kindling. The metal drawers of supplies have practically melted together. The corner area where she had had her desk and personal items didn’t escape unscathed either—most of the photos and bits of inspiration that she had stuck to the corkboard walls have been rent to ashes, but in the space beneath, the metal safe where she’d kept cash, paperwork, her deed to the property…

The metal is still as little hot to the touch as Elena squats to enter the combination. Thankfully, the safe opens without protest, and inside, everything is as it should be. Sighing, this time with relief, Elena sweeps all its contents out and into her bag. She can go through it all at home, on the phone with her lawyer.

There isn’t really much else to bother with, but as they move back towards the door, Elena stoops to pick up the ashen piece of wood that she’s now pretty sure was once a part of her easel. Out on the sidewalk, she ducks back under the tape and lets out a slow breath. She doesn’t really feel any better, having now been inside, but at least the suspense is gone.

“What’s your name?” she asks as she turns around to offer the firefighter the hardhat back, finally willing to meet the woman’s eyes.

“Bobbi,” the blonde answers. “Yours?”

“Elena. Now, were you staking out the place to make sure I didn’t sneak in and hurt myself?” Elena asks, quirking a brow.

Bobbi shakes her head. “No. I was actually coming to see the if you were here today because I wanted to give you something.”

She gestures towards a car parked a few spaces up the street, and Elena is curious enough to follow. From the passenger side, Bobbi extracts a bouquet of white and yellow flowers.

“Are you asking me out?” Elena says drily, even though she’s extremely touched.

Bobbi shrugs. “No, just wanted you to have something white and new wherever it is that you’re going back to. I know this is terrible, but it won’t last forever.”

Elena stares at the flowers for a moment, and then sighs (again).

“Thank you. That’s every kind of you.”

Bobbi reaches out to touch her elbow once with a compassionate look in her eyes, then circles around her car to fetch a purse out of the back seat.

“If you want to go back into your property but don’t want to wait on the insurance people, give me a call.” She scribbles something on a gum wrapper and passes it over the roof of the car to Elena. “If I’m not on the clock, I can come help you out.”

Elena pockets the number with a nod and a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bobbi smiles as she tosses her bag back into the car.

“I have to get going now, actually, but I hope I see you again. Hang in there, sister. It’s going to be okay.”

Back at home that evening, Elena puts the flowers in water, sorts through the contents of her safe, makes another dozen phone calls, and then finally carries the ruined piece of easel to her home art studio. She fetches a sheet of sketch paper and lays it out on her drafting table, then uses the blackened edges of the wood as a large charcoal stick to sketch out the way her studio looked today. It’s cathartic, to be sure, but after a while, a different picture takes shape in her mind.

On a new piece of paper, she sketches out a face, a long ponytail made of flowers, and new possibilities.


End file.
